Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
He leaned out the door. “The line still goes around the corner. I’ll go out and check.”
“Thanks, man.” I wiped my forehead and asked Sandy to take over for me. I had to go check with Petey in the kitchen if we could make more food magically appear. “Oh, and when Ben comes back, tell him to find me in the kitchen.”
“Will do,” he replied.
I hurried out of the Green and into the…rest of the establishment. And talk about a different world. At this hour on a Thursday—the place was almost dead. The lunch rush was long gone, and it’d be another hour before early birds and tourists braved this fucking weather.
Adam perked up from the bar. “Do you need help, bud? I just got the Senior Circuit here.”
“I resent that!” Jerry groused.
“Senior, my ass,” Malcolm huffed.
I grinned, out of breath, and shook my head. “We’re good, but thanks.” Then I jogged out into the kitchen and headed straight for Petey’s station. “We need more food.” I bent down and dug out our last two stockpots that size and put them on the counter.
“I’ll go see what I can find.” Petey stalked off.
In the meantime, I filled the pot with water and started eyeing our spice selection on the wall. We should be able to pull together a poor man’s goulash.
“We should have plenty of ground pork and tomatoes!” I yelled.
’Cause we were out of the chicken that’d been reserved for this service.
When Petey returned, he and I worked like a well-oiled machine. It wasn’t our first rodeo, and we knew what we could pull together quickly. We skipped carrots ’cause they took forever to soften. No potatoes either. He took care of the pork, and I chopped onions and bell peppers. Ben came in around that time and stood sort of frozen, just watching.
Overwhelmed, maybe?
I crushed six cloves of garlic into each pot, then added the beef stock and crushed tomatoes before reaching for the paprika.
“You okay, Ben? You can take a breather, you know,” I said.
That seemed to snap him out of whatever. “Uh, sorry—no. Um, I counted about eighty people.”
Fucking hell.
“Can someone do the math for me? Will fourteen gallons of extra soup be enough?”
Petey squinted at nothing.
“What’s the serving size?” Ben asked.
“’Bout two cups,” I said, tossing five sticks of butter into each pot.
“Then, yes,” he answered. “Fourteen gallons, two cups—should be roughly one hundred and ten servings.”
“Exactly what I was gonna say,” Petey bullshitted.
I side-eyed Ben. “You some kinda math whiz?”
He cleared his throat. “If that makes you feel better, sure.”
Ha!
I grinned, unable to help it. I liked this guy. I liked a guy who could sling sharp comebacks.
I didn’t know what made Ben smile, but he nodded and said, “I’ll go help the others,” and he walked out.
I chuckled and shook my head. He was funny.
He had a sexy smile too.
At ten minutes to five, I was in relief mode. We were gonna make it. Despite having run out of bread, we had a delicious goulash that contained both meat and pasta.
“Trace! We made it!” The sound of that kid’s voice echoing my thought stole my attention, and it felt damn good to see Tommy again. He entered with his mother in tow, and I left my station to go greet them.
“Hey, little man! It’s been a minute. Where ya been?” I bumped his fist.
“We’re staying with Grampa now!” he replied with a toothless grin.
“That’s awesome.” I shifted my attention to Monica and gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. “It’s good to see you, hon. Did you get that job?”
She smiled tiredly, relief visible in her eyes. “I did, thank fuck. I start next week.”
Damn, that was good to hear. “We gotta celebrate, then,” I said firmly.
Tommy lit up. “Do kids under thirteen still get ice cream?”
I chuckled and winced. “In this cold? You gotta wait till spring. But I got somethin’ I think you’ll like. I’ll see you up at the table.”
I returned to my station between Ben and Marisol, and I reached under the table to grab a plastic bag. Then I filled three containers with goulash for Monica and Tommy to take home. I added a couple kits with energy bars and, last but not least, extra servings of cocoa and marshmallows.
Next week, I had to order more takeout containers for liquids. We had thousands of lids, but the cups ran out fast.
When it was Monica’s turn, I handed over the bag to her while Marisol served them the food they could eat here, and I gestured at an empty booth.
“Thank you. Really. Thanks.” Monica smiled and lowered the bag for an impatient Tommy, who beamed at the sight of marshmallows.
“Fuck yeah! It’s the minis!”
“Let’s go have a seat, baby.” Monica ushered her boy over to the booths, and we shifted our focus to the next man in line.